Bliss
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: Sure, John's married and doesn't spend much time with Sherlock nowadays... but HOW can he NOT smell the perfume at Baker Street? Rated M for future chapters, and mostly just for allusions. ON HIATUS FOR NOW.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock was smiling as he walked back into Baker Street.

"Whatever you're thinking about, no," John said.

Sherlock paused in unlooping his scarf, looking across the room at John. "What are you talking about?"

"You've got that smile, so you're thinking about something that I probably won't like, so I'm saying no before you even get the chance to ask."

Sherlock frowned, removing his scarf. "It's nothing bad and it doesn't involve you, anyway." He shrugged off his coat, hanging it on the back of the door. "It's for a case," he added, putting his gloves in the coat pocket.

"Still, no."

"I'm not asking permission."

"I don't want to know," John replied, holding up his hands. "Whatever makes you smile like that, I do not want to know about. Keep it away from me. Unless it's a particularly interesting case."

"It's for an interesting case," Sherlock allowed, pouring himself a cup of tea. "But I'm still not sure that you want to know about it."

John shook his head, standing. "If _you're_ unsure, then I really don't want to know. Look, why is it that every time I stop by, you're not even here?"

Sherlock shrugged, flopping onto the sofa. "Why is it that you don't call before you stop by?" he drawled, taking another sip of his tea.

"I just figured that since you never left the flat much when I lived with you, you wouldn't be out of the flat so much," John muttered.

"I go out when I have a case. Or need to utilize the lab at the hospital. Or when I'm forced to go shopping now," he added distastefully.

"Shame that you have to fight the queue at Tesco on your own," John said. "I've got to get back home."

"You don't _have_ to," Sherlock mumbled.

"Don't start that, Sherlock; I've been here for an hour and a half _and_ I texted you, which you never responded to, by the way."

Sherlock took a drink of his tea. "I'm not starting anything. I'm just saying that you don't _have_ to go back home. Mary is quite capable in taking care of herself and you do not have to be at the flat to welcome her home."

"No," John said, picking up his jacket, "I don't. But I want to. I'm away from her eight hours a day. I miss her."

"Ugh." Sherlock turned back to his tea.

"I'll text you later."

"Do try to spare me the boring details of the newest developments in your life. The text about the new jumper Mary bought you nearly killed me."

"Shut up..." John muttered, zipping his coat. "It's a nice jumper. Comfortable."

"I know. You expressed it nearly every variant available to the English language."

John shook his head. "You never change."

"Of course I don't," Sherlock said, smiling behind his teacup.

* * *

_"Sherlock?"_

_Sherlock didn't look up from The Sunday Telegraph. "Hmm?"_

_The newspaper was suddenly pushed out of the way and Sherlock opened his mouth to complain, but a pair of bright green eyes gazed back at him._

_"You didn't wish me 'good morning'," she accused._

_Sherlock smiled absentmindedly. "Pardon my lack of greeting. I was caught up in the riveting tale of the advice columns," he said easily._

_"Anything good in?" she asked, flopping onto the sofa next to Sherlock._

_"No. Not unless you're interested in money laundering or stolen jewels, oh, or the trouble with technology cutting down on face-to-face communication," Sherlock said, snaking his arm around her to pull her close. "Did you sleep well?"_

_"Mmm..." She nuzzled her face into his shoulder. "I would sleep better if you didn't wake up so early. You're so warm... and I like to cuddle."_

_Sherlock brushed a piece of her auburn hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. "Yes, but _I_ like time to think. Morning and night are the most quiet and you and I are respectively busy at night-time. So, morning it is."_

_She sighed, nuzzling closer. "I know..."_

_Sherlock just smiled and rest his chin on the top of her head, holding her close as they welcomed the early morning hours together._

* * *

Sherlock smiled widely, listening to John's retreating footsteps.

"I never change at all..."

* * *

**DON'T EVERYBODY FREAK OUT.**

**It's okay! Take a deep breath! Everything's fine! There's a woman! No, _really_, don't freak out!**

**Just trust me. I'm meticulous when it involves being in character, and if you follow me, you know that, so just chill out, alright? I'm not meaning to offend anyone- if you don't like what you read, you don't have to continue reading as new chapters are posted. But really. I'm utterly careful about the way I write characters, so don't worry too much just yet.**

**I do not own _Sherlock_. Thank you!**


	2. Chapter 2

"Pink or blue?"

"I don't care."

"Sherlock-"

"I don't. You look fine in everything."

"Don't tell me that. Just pick one."

"Red."

"Red?"

"It's... passionate. Attention grabbing. And show stopping on you. The red dress."

"Why is it that you can't pick one of the options..."

"Because I like the red better."

"Fine. I can't say no when you're looking at me like that..."

"Looking at you like how? It's just my face."

"With puppy dog eyes."

"I do _not_ have puppy dog eyes."

"Sherlock, you have puppy dog eyes."

"I do _not_."

"I'm going to change, Sherlock."

"Do you need help?"

"_No_. We're going to be late as it is!"

Sherlock smirked, idly fixing his tie by the mirror.

* * *

"Ugh. The flat smells like a mini-bar," John complained as he stepped into the sitting room. "What have you been up to?"

Sherlock didn't look up from _My Weekly_. "Reading."

"No, I mean the alcohol." John paused. "Have you been drinking?"

"No," Sherlock retorted. "I went out earlier, there was some alcohol there. The scent lingers and I- oh, yes. I was. I succumbed to a glass of wine."

John crossed the room, opening the window. "And where were you that it involved enough wine to make Baker Street reek of it?"

"Out," Sherlock repeated.

"Well, that's obvious." John sank into his chair, rubbing his eyes.

Sherlock looked at him. "Troubles with domestic bliss?" he intoned, flipping a page in the magazine without looking.

John rolled his eyes. "Mary's gone off the handle because I didn't tell her I had to work overtime at the clinic this week."

Sherlock smirked, looking back at his magazine. "You shouldn't keep secrets, John. It's such a terrible habit to feed. Even worse than my nicotine patches, if I can say so myself."

"Oh, yeah, because you're one to talk. You still haven't even told me your middle name after all these years."

"It's unimportant."

"What's worse than _Hamish_?" John sighed, sinking lower in the chair. "But, no, I wasn't keeping it a secret. I just forgot to tell her. I never shared all this stuff with you, so it's weird to get into the habit of telling _her_."

"I'm not her."

John shot him a look. "Obviously. Then she brought up how much time I spend here and, well, I just thought she was on-board with my friendship with you."

"Curious to see how this pans out," Sherlock said, his voice anything but curious.

"No, you're not. You don't care." John stood again, looking tired. "Is the kettle on? I really need a tea..."

"I told you marriage was a bad idea," Sherlock said, flipping another page.

"Yes, several times over. But we're going to have our rough patches... I'm just letting her cool down. I think she's PMSing, anyway..." John muttered, returning with a cup of tea.

"Wonderful example of yet another thing that I do not need to know about your married life," Sherlock said, throwing the magazine down. "You're clearly overly tired and, considering your row with Mary, have nothing to do for an hour or so until she calms down, so, factoring in the idea that you've been working overtime, take the chance to have a kip while you can and go to bed now. I'll wake you in an hour or so."

John looked ready to complain before he sighed again. "No, you won't. We've been here before. I fall asleep and end up spending the night on accident... That'll really send Mary through the roof."

"Could set your mobile's alarm," Sherlock suggested.

John sipped at his tea. "Could do that."

"Great, we have a solution."

John smiled faintly, standing again. "You know, ever since I moved out, you always seem like you have the perfect reason to get me to stay for a few hours longer..."

Sherlock didn't reply, just picked up a different magazine.

He wouldn't admit it, but John was right. The more time that John spent in Baker Street, the better, even if his ex-flatmate only slept. He wouldn't admit it, but he missed his blogger.

Once upon a time, they would be on cases together.

Nowadays, John had no idea what cases Sherlock even took.

* * *

**Everything is revealed to our blogger next chapter. And a little bit of explanation is in order... Well, a lot of explanation is in order, but Sherlock has never been one for sharing if he can help it. Granted, after Chapter Three, he really can't avoid it. :p**

**Still. No one panic. Everything will be explained.**

**I do not own _Sherlock_. Thank you!**


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock's mobile chirped.

He groaned.

"Sherlock?"

"Phone..." he mumbled, having half the notion to just ignore it.

"Yes... Did you want to get it...?"

He clenched his teeth, sitting up slightly. "Not really, but I suppose I should," he muttered, placing his hand against her back. "Just a moment..."

He picked up his mobile, squinting at the screen.

_Need to talk to you. Better be at Baker Street._

Sherlock winced, painstakingly typing out a message back to John.

_Not at home._  
_S_

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock bit his lip, adding:

_I'm at a friend's._  
_S_

"Everything alright?"

Sherlock glanced up. "Yeah. Fine. John's just got... terrible timing," he muttered.

Before John could text him back, saying that Sherlock didn't have friends, he texted the address that he was at, along with the message _Ten minutes!_.

He sighed heavily, dropping his head back against the pillow.

"Sherlock?"

He opened his eyes, smiling thinly. "I'm fine. John's just messing with me."

She smiled innocently, tracing her fingers aimlessly across Sherlock's bare chest, down to his stomach. "Does this help?"

He shivered in response. Her smile widened.

"Kiss me," Sherlock rumbled, leaning forward to meet her in their kiss.

* * *

Seven minutes and fifty-one seconds later, the doorbell rang.

Sherlock sighed before drawing in another deep breath. "He's early."

She laughed quietly, curling Sherlock's hair around her finger. "He's fine."

"But only just," Sherlock murmured. He kissed her temple. "Back in a moment."

Sherlock reached for his dressing gown and drew it over his bare shoulders, tying the belt around the middle. He traipsed to the front door, stretching slightly.

John's face was _priceless_ when Sherlock opened the door.

"You're _early_," Sherlock accused, stepping out of the doorway. "Come in. Give me a few minutes."

"Sher-"

Sherlock ignored John and shuffled back to the bedroom.

When his 'friend', as he had told John she was (what an unsuitable term), looked at him, he joked "John's having... a mid-life crisis". He began to search out his clothes, picking them off the floor. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's not a problem... Is he alright?" she asked, watching him re-dress worriedly.

"John's always fine. He'll be fine. It's alright. I'll call you later?" he asked, deftly buttoning his shirt.

"I would love that."

Sherlock smiled and put on his jacket, buttoning one of its buttons. He leaned forward to kiss her gently before leaving the room. He picked up his coat and headed back to the hallway.

John was still standing in the hallway, looking confused... and embarrassed.

"Sherlock-" John started as they stepped outside. "Sherlock, what's going _on_?"

"Hm?" He looked down at John. "What's going on where?"

"Here! With you! You've got... feathers in your hair."

Sherlock frowned, reaching up to ruffle his fingers through his hair. "What? I thought I got rid of them all..." He watched a piece of feather down fall to the ground.

"What's going on?" John demanded again.

Sherlock smirked slightly. "Look at the facts and make a deduction."

"I have a really prominent deduction, but I really hope it's not true!" John replied.

"Why not?" Sherlock asked, looking at him. "_You're_ in a relationship."

"Because I _wanted_ a relationship!" John retorted before stopping. "Oh! You _are_ in a relationship! You just admitted it!"

"I didn't admit anything, actually."

Sherlock was trying very hard not to laugh at John's bewildered expression. To be fair, Sherlock supposed, he _had_ told his ex-flatmate that he was married to his work, but who said that he couldn't have an affaire on it now and again?

"It is a woman?" John asked weakly.

Sherlock glanced at him again. "Are you sure you want to know?"

John blushed, if possible, a deeper shade of red.

Sherlock smiled again... not that he had stopped laughing just yet. "Yes, it's a woman."

"And how long have you been... well, what are you?"

"What are we?"

"A couple...? Or just... friends with benefits?"

Sherlock frowned, feeling his eyebrows knit together again. "I have no idea what you're talking about with the 'friends with benefits' bit, but we're..." he trailed off.

What did he say? Together? Yes, they were together, occasionally, when they weren't apart. A couple? They were a couple of people. In love? Those words made his stomach hurt.

"... in a relationship," Sherlock finished lamely.

"It's not just for sex," John clarified.

"No," Sherlock retorted in annoyance. "It's not just about the sex. You _interrupted_ the first time we had sex, with your stupid texts, ten minutes ago."

John blushed impossibly more red. "What- _You didn't have to text me back!_"

"Yes, I did. I can't just turn my phone off. I'm a consulting detective; crime doesn't wait for sex. Neither do you, apparently," he added.

"Oh- I-" John clearly didn't know what to say, although Sherlock knew he was bordering between an apology and a not wanting to hear. "Jeez. _Why_ didn't you tell me?"

"Given your reaction now, I'm glad that I didn't."

"How long have you even been together?" John asked.

Sherlock thought for a moment, counting back days in his mind. "About... three and a half months?"

John stopped walking. "Three and a half _months_? And I haven't known?!"

"Oh, don't panic, John. It's unbecoming."

"You lost your _virginity_ and you _didn't tell me_! How can I not panic?" John demanded, catching up with Sherlock.

"Did you _want_ to know?" Sherlock looked at him again. "Because you really don't seem very congratulatory right now. Or particularly pleased. You're chastising me like I'm your son, which, need I remind you: just because you're older doesn't make you wiser."

"Well, no, I just... I mean, congratulations, I guess. Best mates usually just tell each other stuff like that..." John trailed off before looking up. "We've got to talk. You have to tell me everything, Sherlock. Angelo's?"

"I'd rather have Chinese."

"Fine... but you _are_ going to tell me everything."

Sherlock shrugged a shoulder.

"No, you _have_ to!"

Sherlock only smiled absently, fussing with his scarf.

* * *

**Oh, yes, it's a woman. Yes, Sherlock's 'in a relationship'. Yes, you're all just as shocked as John. Well, probably not. But. I rather like it and. It gets better. And. There's more of an explanation in upcoming chapters.**

**Credit for John's reactions (or inspiration for) from this point onwards goes to _storylover18_ because she's awesome like that.**

**I do not own _Sherlock_. Thank you!**


	4. Chapter 4

"When did I get to meet her?" John asked as they walked back to Baker Street.

Their dinner conversation had been awkward, at least, for John, as Sherlock spilled as much as he would about his latest (and only) romantic escapade. John had settled between embarrassed and intrigued and Sherlock was just annoyed by the time that they had started for Baker Street.

"Whenever we see fit, John."

"'We'?" John sighed. "I just can't believe you let someone into your life like this..."

"I can't believe you got married," Sherlock retorted.

John rolled his eyes. "Little bit different. I wasn't married to myself."

Sherlock smiled, stopping outside Baker Street. "Do you want to come in? Or are you going to repair your breaking marriage?"

"It's not _breaking_. It's-"

"Broken," Sherlock muttered.

"_No_, it's _building_. We're fine. Don't worry about my relationship. You have yours to worry about. But, yes, I'm going back to my flat. I'll talk to you later?"

"Please don't text _or_ call," Sherlock replied.

John shifted uncomfortably. "Look, I said I'm sorry, but you didn't have to answer your phone."

"Just no texts tonight. I'm going back to Eileen's later."

John held up his hands. "No more texts tonight. Have... um... fun," he said lamely, before turning for the street.

Sherlock smiled and let himself into Baker Street.

* * *

"Was John all right, then?" Eileen asked, cuddling into Sherlock's side.

Sherlock looked down at her. "What? Yes, of course. He's just having marriage problems. Or rather, adjusting to marriage problems."

"You said he just got married?"

"Just in the past six months, yes. He's just used to being a bachelor, is all."

"So are you," Eileen said. "You always forget to call me."

Sherlock sighed quietly, sinking lower onto the sofa. "Yes, I do, don't I? I'm not great at remembering things like social conventions such as calling people..." He murmured, brushing his thumb along her cheek. "But I do make up for it."

She nodded. "You do. With the little texts throughout the day..."

"I get so _bored_. John won't text me back because he's working and at least I can get a response from you..." he trailed off. "'You look beautiful today...' 'That dress brings out your eyes...'"

"'Wish I were there to run my fingers through your hair'," she quoted, smiling softly.

"Amongst other things," Sherlock added.

Eileen slapped his arm before snuggling close again. "Keep your mind out of the gutter, Sherlock Holmes."

"It's not in the gutter. It's thinking about you." He leaned down, pressing his lips against her forehead.

"Hmm..." Eileen tilted her head up, gently pressing her lips against his.

There was always a strange feeling when Sherlock kissed Eileen. He hadn't _quite_ been able to figure it out, but it was a strange flutter in his stomach, or his heart, that didn't feel good but didn't entirely seem bad. Once that feeling diminished, there was just a warmth that pervaded, leaving him feeling warm and comfortable and happy.

Albeit... strange.

Sherlock snuck his arm behind her shoulders, drawing her closer.

"Sherlock-" she mumbled, but Sherlock cut her off.

"'m just kissing you," he murmured, bumping her nose lightly with his.

Eileen just sighed quietly, closing her eyes. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to Sherlock's once again.

Sherlock smiled.

When they broke apart, Sherlock rest his forehead against hers lightly. "You're tired..." he murmured.

"Mhmm..."

Sherlock removed his forehead from hers, drawing her against his chest again. "Was work tiresome?"

She nodded slightly. "Yes. And coupled with our morning... I'm tired."

"Go to bed."

Eileen tilted her head to look up at him. "Are you spending the night?"

"Do you want me to?" Sherlock asked.

"Snuggling with you is far better than sleeping alone, but if you have something else to do..."

Sherlock placed a finger against her lips, effectively quieting her. "If you want me to stay, I'll stay. No complaints."

Eileen beamed. "I'm going to get ready for bed."

"Good. The make-up comes off and the pyjamas are on; aka: when you look your best," Sherlock said.

"Oh, stop," Eileen laughed, getting to her feet. "Like I still say you're the cutest when you're just waking up. Sluggish, exhausted, and-"

"No!"

"- uninhibited," she continued, smiling. "It's still the cutest thing when you were half asleep that one morning, when I was getting ready for work, and you said 'I love you' before you started snoring the next second. In your t-shirt and pyjama pants-"

"Eileen, _no_."

"- hugging the blankets, with your hair splayed out across the pillow."

Sherlock scowled, crossing his arms. "I thought you were getting ready for bed."

Eileen smiled and Sherlock, unhelpfully, found himself smiling back.

* * *

**So, some ShEileen (yes, I made a name :p) in this chapter. Back to John's POV in the next chapter, along with quite the surprise for our dear doctor...**

**I do not own _Sherlock_. Thank you!**


	5. Chapter 5

John found himself unable to sleep that night.

Sherlock had a _girlfriend_? How the _hell_ had that happened? And why hadn't John noticed? He knew that he wasn't around as much as he had used to be- obviously- but he had gotten married, he had a job, and he just didn't have _time_ to run around as much as he used to.

Although, now it made sense as to why Sherlock hadn't been asking him out on any cases. When Sherlock wasn't working, it seemed like he was with Eileen. Of course, John didn't know this for sure, but it certainly explained the vague and distracted texts that Sherlock had been sending him. John had just thought he was busy with a case... but he was busy with a _woman_. (Although, not with sex, apparently, until now.)

Unfortunately, Sherlock hadn't shared many details with him, except the fact that her name was Eileen, she worked as a receptionist at a psychiatrist's office, and she was thirty-four years old. They had been together for three and a half months, almost four now. That was only a couple months after John had moved out of Baker Street to move in with Mary...

He couldn't help but feeling a little bit bad about it. Sherlock had clearly been lonely... and he'd gone and found a girlfriend.

There was still _something_ that didn't sit right with that idea...

"John...?" Mary mumbled.

John jumped slightly, looking towards Mary. "Hm?"

"Are you okay...?" Mary turned over, fumbling for the lamp. Soft light flooded the room a second later. "Why aren't you asleep?"

John sighed, looking back at the ceiling. "I'm just thinking."

"About Sherlock." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah..." he mumbled. "I just don't understand. Sherlock _hates_ romance, love, anything to do with sentiment. He hated it that _I_ got married, let alone him having a girlfriend. I just don't get it."

"John, he's a grown adult. I'm sure he knows what he wants..." Mary said softly.

"I know, I know I should think that, but... I feel like he doesn't know what he's doing. It's just so _weird_. It's so out of character."

"John." Mary shuffled closer, laying her head on his shoulder. "I know he's your best friend, but he has to make his own decisions."

"I know," John sighed. He shifted his arm around her, hugging her close. "It just feels like something's going on and it's not at all good..."

* * *

As it turned out, John's bad feeling was right.

Sherlock didn't contact him at all in the next week.

He didn't text back when John texted him, and John found himself beginning to worry. He was just about to call him when he received a text, something about lasagna; John had texted him last week to ask how Sherlock had made the pasta that he'd had at his flat a couple weeks ago. Apparently, Sherlock was only _now_ just getting to the texts from last week.

_Where have you been?_

John texted back furiously, but he didn't receive a response.

"He texted me about pasta..." he muttered under his breath, staring at the screen of his mobile in disbelief.

"What's that?" Mary asked, looking away from the telly.

"Sherlock, he just texted me- but it was about the text that I sent him last week asking about the pasta! He didn't respond to anything else."

"Well, at least he's alive," Mary said, jokingly, but John didn't smile. "John," she said sternly. "Sherlock Holmes is a very independent man. You should know that."

"I do, but-"

Mary placed her finger against John's lips. "No 'but's. He'll let you in when he wants to, you know that. He just takes longer than usual to get to some things, and now he has a relationship to figure out. I'm sure he's just been busy."

John knew it made sense. More sense than he could care to admit, really, but if Sherlock _did_ have a girlfriend now, the consulting detective was probably struggling with dealing with it like a normal human being. He was probably still getting used to everything, after four months of dating, not to mention the sudden (although John mentally questioned the 'sudden' bit) introduction to a sex life.

But, Mary was right. Sherlock would let him in on what was on his mind. It had taken a few years for Sherlock to get to that point- and even now he hardly shared anything of consequence (like having a girlfriend)- but he was better than he used to be. John would become privy to whatever was on Sherlock's mind at some point.

John was just bad at waiting.

* * *

At a week and a half, John let himself into Baker Street. It seemed to be abandoned; clothes were missing and the violin was gone and Billy was absent from the mantelpiece.

John immediately called Lestrade to see if Sherlock had a case. Lestrade informed him that Sherlock had been working absentmindedly on one for awhile now, but he had nothing pressing.

John called Mycroft, too, but the elder Holmes didn't seem too interested in where his brother was or what he was doing, as usual. John found it frustrating to know that Mycroft probably actually _knew_ where Sherlock was, but, if something was wrong, Mycroft would know, too, and Mycroft would have told John if something was wrong.

At two weeks, John was starting to panic.

Mary tried to placate John, but he could tell that she was getting worried, too. John didn't know if that was because she cared about Sherlock (which she did) or if it was because John was so upset. He didn't really _care_, either... He just wanted to know where his best friend was.

At two twenty-three a.m., on the morning of two and a half weeks since last talking to Sherlock (really talking; the pasta text didn't count), John received a text.

He was immediately annoyed at whomever was texting him so early in the morning, but he fumbled for his mobile on the nightstand and squinted towards the screen tiredly.

"John...?" Mary mumbled, stirring slightly. "Who is it...?"

John read the message twice before his grip on the phone faltered. It fell onto the duvet haphazardly. John didn't make to retrieve it.

"John?" Mary repeated, sounding worried now. "What's it say?"

John swallowed and picked up his mobile again, feeling numb. He turned the screen towards Mary, the illumination lighting her face as she read the latest (and namely only) text from Sherlock in the past two and a half weeks.

_Need you to be witness at wedding. Confirm ASAP._  
_S_

* * *

**SURPRISE!**

**Thanks to _storylover18_ for influencing John and Mary's reaction.**

**I do not own _Sherlock_. Thank you.**


	6. Chapter 6

_Who's wedding, Sherlock? What's going on? Where have you been?_

John didn't know what to say, so he just typed the first three most important things on his mind.

_Wedding_? Surely not _Sherlock's_ wedding. No. No, Sherlock would not get married.

_But you didn't ever think that he'd have a girlfriend, either_, nagged a little voice in the back of his head. John chased it away impatiently, waiting on Sherlock to text him back.

_My wedding, obviously. Ireland._  
_S_

John stared at his mobile in shock, again, when Sherlock's text finally came through. He couldn't- no, this just- _no_.

"He's getting married?" Mary asked, looking from the screen to John. "Didn't you just find out about his girlfriend three weeks ago? How long have they been together?"

"Four months..." John muttered numbly.

He didn't know why, but he felt so... ice cold. Like he had been plunged into an ice cold tank of ice water and was still struggling to breathe afterwards. How could Sherlock do this? Was this how Sherlock had felt when John said he was getting married? If so, John felt _terrible_.

"Well, I suppose Sherlock never does anything in the conventional way, so getting married after four months shouldn't surprise us," Mary joked tiredly. But when John didn't laugh, she placed her hand on John's shoulder lightly. "Be happy for him, John."

John shook his head. "I know. I am. I just... I don't know."

His mobile chimed again.

_Are you going to be my witness or not?_  
_S_

John looked up at Mary. "What should I do?"

"John."

He looked back at his mobile. "I know he's my best friend but I don't even know anything about this woman. She could be a murderer or-or a psychopath or something. I don't know what he's getting into... How am I supposed to support that?"

"You can go talk to him. See what's going on, what he hasn't been telling you... and meet Eileen, too. See if they're a good match. If not, then you don't have to. But you'll never forgive yourself if you don't at least try to see it through."

"But how can I say no? _He'll_ never forgive me if I don't do this."

"You have to follow your instincts, John."

"I don't want to approve something terrible, but I don't want to lose my best friend to it, either," John mumbled, feeling miserable. "He's not even asking me to be his best man. He said 'witness'. Which means, if I don't do it, he'll find someone else to."

"That's true."

John sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes. "I've got to talk to him. I have to talk to him, at least, even if things seem... not right once I get there."

Mary nodded. "You'll know what's best, John. But you can't decide without having all of the facts... What is that Sherlock said? 'It is a mistake to theorize without all of the facts'?"

John nodded, typing a message back to Sherlock. Mary had a point. John had to figure out all the facts before he could piece together a decision.

_Where can we meet at?_

Sherlock's reply contained an address to a hotel in Ireland. John didn't ask, instead said that he would take the early train and see him tomorrow.

* * *

Sherlock lunged across the mess of pillows and duffels bags littering the floor, opening the door before John had a chance to knock.

John stared back at him, hand raised to knock, his eyes now roving over the form of his flatmate. He lowered his hand. "Hey," he mumbled.

"I see the train was delayed," Sherlock said in lieu of a greeting, stepping aside to let John in.

"For ten minutes... Yeah." John peered around the hotel room, probably noting the mess. Sherlock didn't care. He was exhausted and he didn't feel like cleaning up. "You look like crap, Sherlock."

Sherlock smirked, trudging ahead and kicking the duffel bags out of the way. He picked up the pillows and deposited them back on their proper chair or sofa. "Thanks, John. I can always count on you for moral support."

"Speaking of moral support-"

Oh, there it was.

"-we need to talk."

"There it is," Sherlock muttered, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"What do you expect? You tell me you have a girlfriend, have had a girlfriend, and then you vanish for half a month only to text me at two in the morning to say 'I'm getting married'? We've _got_ to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about," Sherlock said, walking across the room and thumping onto the sofa. He was so tired. "I don't see what you want to talk about."

"You're getting _married_!" John exclaimed.

"Yes, so?" Sherlock took a sip of his coffee.

"_Why_? Why now? You've known her for _four months_! You said you'd never get married, so why the rush? I don't understand."

"And now you know how I felt when you got married," Sherlock replied absently.

"I knew Mary for a year and a half before I proposed, and you knew it was coming. Don't try to make this into that; it's very different." John sank into the chair, looking tired as well. "Just tell me, Sherlock: a wedding? Marriage? Why?"

"Because I love her," he said simply.

John's face twisted into something unrecognizable. "You don't love _anyone_! You care for your friends, in your way, but love? No."

Sherlock scowled. "I find it difficult to believe that you know my emotions, John, miniscule as they are."

"Come on, Sherlock, we both know-"

Sherlock sighed heavily, getting to his feet. "Sorry. I forgot. My emotions don't actually _count_, do they?" he said sarcastically, walking back to the kitchen.

"Of course they do! That's why I'm asking you to talk to me!"

"There's nothing to talk about!"

"You're getting _married_, Sherlock; there's plenty to talk about!"

Sherlock slammed his mug down, coffee splashing onto the counter. "Fine, John. If you have such a problem with accepting the redeeming fact that I am in love with someone for the first time in my life, then you don't have to be my witness. I'll find someone else. It's not like it matters."

John deflated. His face crumpled and his shoulders fell. "Sherlock... Sherlock, it _does_ matter. I'm just trying to figure this out. I'm so confused-"

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock's attention snapped towards the hallway as Eileen's voice filtered down the hall. A half second later, she appeared in the doorway, wearing nothing but the lingerie that she had been wearing last night.

"Eileen, I'm sorry," Sherlock said, crossing the room. "I didn't mean to wake you-" even though John was doing most of the shouting- "Go back to bed."

She smiled at him sleepily before noticing John. "Oh... You must be John. I've heard such good things about you. Sherlock was so excited when you accepted to be his best man."

"Eileen," Sherlock protested quietly.

"Oh, come on." Eileen smiled, looking at John again. "John already knows you're excited, don't you?"

"... Yeah. Yeah, I do." John replied, standing. He walked over, offering his hand for Eileen to shake. "John Watson. I take it you know more about me than I know about you."

Sherlock shot John a dirty look which he studiously ignored. Huffing to himself, he walked back to the bedroom, hooked his dressing gown off the floor and, muttering under his breath, returned to the sitting room.

"Here, Eileen," he said, helping her to shrug on his dressing gown. "I wouldn't be too nice to him yet," he murmured at her ear. "He hasn't agreed to be my best man. He just agreed to talk to me, and it clearly isn't going well." He drew the shoulder of the gown closer to her neck.

She twisted around to look at him. "What? I thought he already said yes."

"I just inferred," Sherlock muttered. "But apparently he has a problem with the progression of our relationship."

"I don't-" John started, but Sherlock spoke over him.

"I can find someone else, Eileen. Any random stranger can be our witness. It's alright. Whatever it takes to make our love official," he mumbled.

"But you wanted John, didn't you?" she murmured, slipping her arms around his neck.

He sighed. "It'll work out. Don't worry about it. You need to go back to bed." He kissed her cheek before stepping away, placing his hand against the small of her back. "Come on. You need your beauty sleep."

"So do you! You look exhausted."

Sherlock smirked. "Yes, well, we've been busy, yeah?"

Eileen slapped his arm. "Don't be crude."

"Not crude, just truthful," he said cheerfully.

"It was nice to meet you, John," Eileen said, looking back at John. Sherlock followed his gaze.

John looked surprised and embarrassed and uncomfortable and... well, the anger had drained from his eyes and had been replaced with something that Sherlock couldn't read.

"Nice to meet you, too..." John murmured.

"Come on. Back to bed," Sherlock said, guiding her down the hall. "I'll have breakfast for you when you wake up."

Eileen smiled and wrapped her arm around his waist. Sherlock smiled absentmindedly and drew her closer.

* * *

**In love? What? Sherlock? Oh, but it's so cute. You have to admit it's so cute. Forget the woman, but Sherlock being endearing is _so_ cute. Sorry. Another thing I love, like sleepy!Sherlock and laughing!Sherlock. This one just isn't canon at all, haha.**

**I do not own _Sherlock_. Thank you!**


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